Fenchurch Street Mystery Read online

found. Dark and deserted it is in all conscience, is it not? Just the place

  where a bully and a coward would decoy an unsuspecting stranger, murder him

  first, then rob him of his valuables, his papers, his very identity, and leave

  him there to rot. The body was found in a disused barge which had been moored

  some time against the wall, at the foot of these steps. It was in the last

  stages of decomposition, and, of course, could not be identified; but the police

  would have it that it was the body of William Kershaw.

  "It never entered their heads that it was the body of Francis Smethurst, and

  that William Kershaw was his murderer.

  "Ah ! it was cleverly, artistically conceived! Kershaw is a genius. Think of it

  all! His disguise! Kershaw had a shaggy beard, hair, and moustache. He shaved up

  to his very eyebrows ! No wonder that even his wife did not recognize him across

  the court; and remember she never saw much of his face while he stood in the

  dock. Kershaw was shabby, slouchy, he stooped. Smethurst, the millionaire, might

  have served in the Prussian army.

  "Then that lovely trait about going to revisit the Torriani Hotel. Just a few

  days' grace, in order to purchase moustache and beard and wig, exactly similar

  to what he had himself shaved off. Making up to look like himself! Splendid!

  Then leaving the pocket-book behind! He! he! he! Kershaw was not murdered! Of

  course not. He called at the Torriani Hotel six days after the murder, whilst

  Mr. Smethurst, the millionaire, hobnobbed in the park with duchesses! Hang such

  a man! Fie!"

  He fumbled for his hat. With nervous, trembling fingers he held it deferentially

  in his hand whilst he rose from the table. Polly watched him as he strode up to

  the desk, and paid twopence for his glass of milk and his bun. Soon he

  disappeared through the shop, whilst she still found herself hopelessly

  bewildered, with a number of snap-shot photographs before her, still staring at

  a long piece of string, smothered from end to end in a series of knots, as

  bewildering, as irritating, as puzzling as the man who had lately sat in the

  corner.